


You Are the Home I've Been Looking For

by anxiouslatte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, Bisexual Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, F/M, Gay Draco Malfoy, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Not as dark as the tags suggest, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Professor Harry Potter, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouslatte/pseuds/anxiouslatte
Summary: When coming home from a night out does not end with Draco curled up in his flat with the latest book he'd been reading, but instead outside of Harry Potter's door he isn't sure what to expect. Draco's just hoping for a short reprieve from the cold rain to nurse his wounds before moving on somewhere else. He isn't expecting Harry to take it upon himself to take care of Draco and an offer to stay as long as he needs. He definitely isn't expecting how safe his (now former) school rival's flat feels.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 21
Kudos: 172





	You Are the Home I've Been Looking For

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written and finished of any significant length in over a year, so inevitably I'm probably going to be incredibly rusty and for that I apologize but I needed some validation so this is being posted on the internet for the world to see rather than be buried in my Google Docs forever.
> 
> Just a few things before we get started: 
> 
> The tags are super dark, but I don't think it's at all as dark as it implies. I just wanted to make sure I covered every potentially triggering topic that I could. If I missed something please let me know and I can add it in. 
> 
> This takes place at an undetermined amount of time after the war. Long enough that smart phones are a thing, but still close enough that the trauma is fresh. Not sure if that can even chronologically make sense, but we're going to roll with it.
> 
> I'm also not totally sure how I feel about Draco's characterization. I really prefer reading fics where Draco is cold and distant and it takes a lot for him to open up, but I was really feeling some vulnerable Draco right now, hopefully that doesn't seem completely unrealistic.
> 
> This is completely unbetaed, not brit-picked, and all that jazz.

It was an incredibly cold night for mid-May and of course it was raining - that was just Draco's luck at the moment. He'd been at the  _ Primrose _ , a gay wizard's bar with Blaise when he decided hooking up with some giant leering wizard in the loo was a good idea, and then going home with him was an even better idea. The man had given Draco the creeps, though perhaps he was being paranoid. With the end of the second wizarding war, he didn't find himself very high up in the wizarding social hierarchy anymore. His parents had gone to trial and both gotten time: his father life in Azkaban and his mother ten years of house arrest, with a chance for a sentence reduction and less probationary terms after her time served if she behaved well. Draco got off the easiest. He was required to make a statement during the trial, and he had spoken at length about his father's insistence since Draco's fourth year that he take the Dark Mark. He spoke about putting it off for as long as possible, going so far as to plan an escape but not knowing where he could go and if the Dark Lord would hunt him down. He didn't think the Wizengamot had believed a single word of his trial, most of them had stared at him skeptically, but then Harry Potter had stood up and spoke for him. He'd given a short statement for Draco's mother about how she had lied to Lord Voldemort for him and how the war wouldn't be over if not for her. His statement for Draco was much longer, detailing how Draco had looked during 6th year, how he'd behaved, and how afraid he had seemed for the entire school year. Draco knew Harry’s speech had given him a significant boost in his favor, implying that it could be seen by any outside observer that Draco was being coerced into the Dark Lord’s service. 

It was that speech, and the forgiveness that Potter seemed to convey within that speech that Draco was betting on now. Zabini had left him alone at the club, and Draco hadn’t stayed much longer than to finish his drink, no longer as interested in looking for someone to take home as he had been. He’d decided his evening would be much more productive finishing the newest curse breaking book he’d been studying for his Gringotts apprenticeship. His plans were ruined the moment he’d stepped out of the club and into the side alleyway to apparate back to the flat he owned in London. Draco was used to being efficient, always staying well enough within the public eye that the general public would be less likely to attack him, though he was well equipped in handling the small jinxes that were still thrown his way. It was a larger attack that he knew would be pulled the moment he was isolated that he feared, as too few people would be on his side for any consequences to come of it. He stepped into the alleyway, the night air cool as it began to mist, not quite rain but not quite not rain either. He turned on his heel, pivoting as he apparated into another alleyway next to his flat. He’d barely appeared when large hands grabbed him, one over his mouth to prevent him from crying out and another wrapped around him to keep him from being able to defend himself. 

“What are you doing out all alone at night you filthy Death Eater? Did you think you were safe here? Did you think that we would let your kind roam free?” The man hissed in his ear and Draco squirmed, trying to get free. A second man appeared in his line of vision, and he stopped. Two against one wasn’t the worst odds, but he didn’t know how many others he simply couldn’t see. The second began to throw jinxes at him, the bright colors lighting the alley as the first held Draco still to give the other a clear aim. After over a year serving the Dark Lord, Draco was used to pain, and it was easier to let it happen. He hoped that if he didn’t struggle they would get it out of their system faster and let him go sooner. 

“Take that you disgusting faggot. Don’t think we don’t know where you’ve just come from. Did you have a good time taking it up the arse? Did you get nice and satisfied or do you need some more?” The magic stopped suddenly, and Draco found himself shoved against the damp alley wall. He tried to struggle, but he couldn’t reach his wand, and every spell he tried to whisper wouldn’t come, frozen on the tip of his tongue and muffled by the hand on his mouth. Draco could take a beating, he’d received plenty from the Dark Lord and his minions but this, this was something he couldn’t bear the humility of enduring a second time. As his belt was undone Draco was transported back in time, back to his room in the Malfoy Manor, as Ferir Greyback pressed him into his bed and forced himself upon Draco per the Dark Lord’s orders. His trousers fell to his knees with the sound of cloth ripping, and with a jolt Draco was back in the present, forcing himself to twist against the arm shoved against his shoulder blades, no longer able to simply grit his teeth and bare it until he was able to retreat to the privacy of his own flat to lick his wounds.

It was a narrow thing, the almost repeated action of Greyback, and this man being thrown off of Draco, but it happened, and Draco didn’t hesitate, pivoting as he stood, exposed for all to see and apparated away to the first place that popped into his head: Diagon Alley. It was raining harder now, and Draco hurriedly pulled up his trousers and fashioned them with shaking hands, trying to keep what he could covered even with the torn fabric. It was too close of a miss, and his heart was in his throat. He couldn’t breath, his chest hurt, and there was blood trickling down the side of his face where he had been slammed into the alley wall. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, making it difficult to think. 

The men clearly knew where he lived as they were waiting for him, so he couldn't go home. His mother couldn’t see him like this; Malfoy Manor was completely out of the question. Pansy had been off in France for the last half a year, and she didn’t even have a flat in London anymore, so taken with the culture and anonymity that France provided her with. Zabini wasn’t home, and Draco didn’t have access to the wards without him. He was just as cautious as Draco if not more so, as his parents were both in Azkaban, like Draco’s father, serving life sentences. That was the end of Draco’s friends, and anyone he was willing to let see him like this. He had a few friends from work, but he couldn’t let them see him kicked down so, he was just beginning to build up a good image at work. With his pants in shreds, Draco knew the Leaky Cauldron wouldn’t take him, though it would be a chance that even dressed adequately they wouldn’t want his business. He wrapped his arms around himself as the rain continued to come down, soaking his thin shirt through and chilling Draco down to the bone. He was shaking so hard he didn't think there was anyway he could hold his wand, let alone try to fix his pants or mend his injuries. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to think clearly enough to apparate without splinching himself.

Across the street from the entrance to the alleyway a light went on upstairs Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, newly renovated and reopened after the end of the war. Lord Voldemort had had his Death Eaters purge Diagon Alley, and Draco had remembered being devastated to hear that Fortescue’s had been shut down and boarded up. It had been his favorite treat as a child on trips to Diagon Alley. Luckily Florean Fortescue wasn’t killed, and he had a brother he was staying with in the countryside. When he came back after the war, he had understandably decided that he no longer wanted to live in Diagon Alley. The Prophet had done a large article on it since the one and only Harry Potter had decided to rent the flat above the ice cream parlour.

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco’s feet were carrying him quickly out of the alleyway and around to the door to the flat above the ice cream parlor. He didn’t knock, simply stood staring at the door. Draco couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking, and he didn’t think that this was the best idea. He’d written letters to all three members of the golden trio after his trial, apologizing for his actions while at school and expressing his hope that, though unexcusable, they could find some way to forgive him for his actions. Granger was the only one who had written him back, and her forgiveness was the one he had least expected and least deserved. 

Before Draco could knock, or retreat back to the alleyway where he’d been standing, the door opened and he found himself faced with Harry Potter in flannel pajama bottoms, a ratty old t shirt, and long hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of his head.

“Draco?” He asked frowning at him. “Are you alright? Jesus, don’t cry come inside, we’ll figure it out.” Draco hadn’t realized how fast his breaths were coming, or that the water streaming down his face wasn’t just the rain, but from his own body as well. As Harry reached out and gently guided him into the building and up a set of stairs, Draco became aware of just how loudly he was sobbing in the quiet. It was pathetic, really.

“Hey, just let it out. It’s okay, whatever happened is over. You’re safe here.” Harry murmured quietly to him, and then enveloped him carefully into his arms, pulling Draco against his chest as if they hadn't been sworn enemies for six years of school, and then fought on opposite sides of a war. 

“I’m sorry, I know you hate me. I didn’t know where else to go,” Draco attempted to get out between sobs. His traitorous body had melted into Harry's embrace and his hands fisted themselves in his t-shirt to keep Harry against him and to try to stop the shaking. Harry’s hand gently rubbed his back as if he’d done it a thousand times. As if Draco deserved it. 

“I don’t hate you,” Harry told him softly. “I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done. Just breathe, and we’ll figure out how to deal with what’s happened to you, okay? But for now just let it out.” Draco was trying to breathe, but every breath he took to try to slow down his tears just had him sobbing harder, as if once he’d started it would now be absolutely impossible for him to stop. Harry didn’t say a word, or try to rush him to catch his breath and explain why he of all people had shown up on Harry’s front doorstep, clearly just gone through an attack. 

“Shit you’re bleeding. Come on, you don’t have to be ready to talk yet, but I need you to let me look at that, okay?” Harry’s voice was soft and gentle, more so than Draco would have ever expected since it was directed towards him, seeing as the general public’s opinion of former Death Eaters was not very high at all. Harry, of all people, had some of the most just cause to hate him, yet here he was displaying unending kindness towards Draco, trying to calm him down and take care of his wounds. 

Draco allowed himself to be guided up the flight of stairs immediately past the door and into Harry's flat. Later, when he was more coherent, he would have to ask how Harry had known Draco was outside, as there was no way to tell from upstairs. The flat was a small space, one large room with a huge bed in one corner opposite a small, but newly renovated, kitchen that had its own cozy charm. The whole flat was incredibly homey, and Draco envied Harry, his own flat felt sterile and unfamiliar in comparison. Harry steered them to the single door to their right which led to a spacious bathroom where he sat Draco on the closed toilet lid, gently prying Draco's hands off of his t-shirt without a word, before rifling through his cabinets. The quiet, homey atmosphere of Harry’s flat made it easier to breathe somehow.

“I’m going to patch you up the muggle way for right now, hopefully you're okay with that. I'm not the best at healing spells, that's more Hermione's thing, so I'd rather look them up first to make sure I'm actually going to be healing you, and not hurting you more on accident." He emerged from the cabinet with bandages and some gauze and then his hands were on Draco’s button up shirt, and Draco flinched away from him, scrambling off of the toilet before he could help himself to put his back flat against the bathroom wall.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, eyes trained on Draco. “Hey. It's okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here, Draco. Whoever did this isn’t here, and I won’t let them near you again. I’m just here to help. Can you let me do that, please?” Draco nodded, and shakily sat back down on the toilet seat. He couldn’t help flinching again as Harry came towards him.

“How about you take your shirt off yourself? This way everything’s on your terms. I don’t want anything from this, okay Draco?” Harry sounded like he suspected what had happened, but Draco found he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Harry's tone was soft and gentle, but not blatant pity, which was a small comfort.

With shaking fingers Draco began to unbutton his shirt, discovering as he did so that the hexes the second man had aimed at him had ripped giant shreds into his shirt, and the skin underneath was mottled with bruising and dried blood. 

“Good. Is it okay if I touch you? This is some disinfectant so that those cuts won’t get infected, okay? Might sting a bit.” Draco nodded, and found Harry Potter carefully crowding in close to him to gently dab at the scratches on his chest and face, some overlapping the scars that Harry himself had given Draco back in sixth year, and Draco could see Harry’s gaze lingering over them even though he tried not to make it so obvious.

“They aren’t your fault. We were just teenagers. Professor Snape told me that you wouldn’t have had any idea what that spell did,” Draco said hoarsely, and Harry’s head jolted up to meet Draco’s gaze. His tears were slowing, and it was the first complete thing he'd been able to say. Something he should have said ages ago.

“That doesn’t excuse it, Draco. I could have killed you,” Harry shook his head, lips pursued. Of course the bloody savior would feel guilty about hurting Draco even when he'd taken the Dark Mark and was deep in serving the Dark Lord.

“I’ve forgiven you, if you’ve forgiven me, then we’re plenty even for all we’ve done to each other, I’d imagine.” Harry grimaced, but didn’t argue back, putting down the disinfectant soaked towel to wrap Draco’s chest with gauze. Harry had to almost embrace him with each pass around his torso, and his breath was warm against Draco's forehead. Harry's fingers brushed against his skin with each pass of the gauze and Draco tried to ignore the electric pulse he felt each time they made skin to skin contact. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much touch from another person not in a sexual setting. Maybe in fifth year, Pansy had been quite the cuddler, and there had been that time when they'd given dating a go when Draco was trying to deny that he was gay. But besides Pansy, he couldn't remember anyone else touching him this much. 

"There. That's all done. Let me look at your face now, and then I'll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me about what happened if you want." Harry tucked the gauze in on itself, and took Draco's jaw in hand tilting his face so that he could get a better look at the right side of Draco's face. He tried to ignore the intimacy of the movement, and tried to avoid making eye contact with Harry so close. 

"Does your head hurt at all? Do you think you have a concussion?" He asked as he began cleaning the dried blood down the side of Draco's face.

"A little," Draco admitted, unsure of the answer to Harry's second question. Harry scrubbed at the side of Draco's face where the blood had dried thicker, and Draco hissed as Harry pressed too hard against a sensitive spot, and the disinfectant hit the open wound.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it stings. I'm trying to be as quick and gentle as I can, but I need to make sure the cut isn't too deep." Harry tightened his grip on Draco's jaw, holding him more firmly in place and rubbed more gently at the side of his face as Draco curled his hands into fists as it stung. Harry kept up quiet murmured apologies as he rewet the towel with disinfectant and went at the side of his face again. As the adrenaline faded, Draco realized that he must of hit the wall a lot harder than he'd thought, because his entire head kept throbbing harder, and Harry was cleaning off more blood than Draco had expected.

Harry switched to water and did a final pass over Draco's entire face before discarding the towel entirely, and gently prodding the sensitive area with his fingers. He sighed.

"I really don't know what I'm supposed to look for as far as head injuries go, but I think you're just going to have some pretty bad bruising for awhile. If you want I can firecall Hermione and see if she'll come over and take a look at it," Harry released Draco's face and stepped away, turning to clean his supplies off the bathroom counter and put them away.

"That won't be necessary, I don't want to inconvenience her at such a late hour." 

"She won't mind at all, but that's alright. If you change your mind later just let me know. Her healer schedule has her used to getting up at all hours of the night, and she definitely won't mind doing it for a friend," 

"One letter exchange does not make Granger and I friends, nor do I ever expect any such behavior from her." Draco said stiffly, and Harry turned to frown at him.

"And I'm sure you have a lot of friends with that attitude, that's why you came to me after being attacked. Come, I'm making you tea." In stunned silence Draco allowed himself to be herded out of Harry's bathroom and out into his flat. He sat on the large, squishy couch in the center of the room near the kitchen as Harry put the kettle onto the stove and started taking cups and tea bags out of the cupboards. Draco only understood his actions from the Muggle Studies textbooks he'd been studying in his free time in an effort to try to understand muggles and unlearn the prejudices he'd been raised with, but he fully didn't understand how muggle things worked.

“Do you want a spare set of clothes, since yours are soaking wet?” Draco looked up from his lap where he’d ended up staring at his hands to find Harry watching him, gently. 

“I don’t want to be a bother, I’ve already imposed enough.”

“It’s no bother. You said you didn’t know where else to go, you can stay here as long as you need, and we’re similar enough in size,” Harry left the kettle and went over to the wardrobe next to his bed, opening the doors revealed messily folded clothes spilling out of drawers and off of hangers. Out of a drawer Harry pulled a pair of flannel pajama bottoms almost identical to the ones he was wearing, and from another he pulled a Gryfindor seeker warm up shirt, both of which he brought over to Draco and set in his lap. 

“You can use the bathroom to change if you’d like. I’d imagine it’s a process to get those pants off,” Draco wasn’t entirely sure if he was imagining the wink Harry had just given him or not, but he had already returned to tend the kettle and Draco might never know. He glanced down at the skin-tight leather pants he’d worn to the  _ Primrose, _ because Blaise had told him they made his arse look good, and immediately felt self-conscious that Harry Potter had seen him in them. He escaped to the bathroom and let the door click shut. Harry was right that his pants were a process to get off, he had to peel them off of his body in ideal conditions, soaking wet meant he almost resorted to cutting them off and letting them join the ruined white button up shirt now sitting in shreds in Harry’s bathroom trash can. Eventually he managed and pulled on Harry’s flannel pants. They were surprisingly soft, and he only had to fold the waist once for them to fit comfortably. Harry’s shirt was loose on him where it was clearly tight on Harry, and Draco pushed away the intimacy of wearing Harry’s clothes. After a moment of debate he let the pants drop into the trash can with his ruined shirt, deciding he wouldn’t want to wear them again after the events of the day.

"How do you take your tea?" Harry asked when he emerged from the bathroom as he poured water into the teacups on the counter. 

"Milk and sugar," Draco watched Harry add a generous amount of both to Draco's cup, and only sugar to his own. He came and sat beside Draco on his couch, so close that their thighs were almost touching as he handed Draco his tea.

"Thank you," He wrapped both hands around his cup for something to do, and stared into the depths of his tea wishing it could help him understand why he was still even here. Why he'd come to Harry Potter for help, and received it. Why he was sitting on Harry Potter’s comfortable couch in a spare set of his pajamas, and he wasn’t running away.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harry bumped his knee against Draco's and Draco glanced up at him. Harry seemed to be watching him with genuine concern and a willingness to listen, with no hint of the mockery Draco had for some reason expected now that Harry had patched him up. Draco shrugged a shoulder and took a sip of his still too hot tea to postpone having to give Harry an answer. As far as Draco knew Savior Potter had his life in order: a career teaching part-time at Hogwarts with the opportunity to step up to full-time when he was ready, the Weasley girl as his girlfriend, and his friendships with Weasley and Granger still going strong. What would Potter know about having to fight for a career, friends, and apparently now even to be able to go out for a drink at night? He would just want to use his savior status to fix it, probably give The Quibbler a statement about Draco’s innocence or some other nonsense in hopes of swaying the world’s opinions of ex-Death Eaters, as if the world was that easy.

“Has this happened before?” Harry asked when Draco didn’t offer anything. Draco couldn’t help but grimace and found himself nodding. One too many times. First in his own home with the Dark Lord: crucioed too many times to count as punishment, as sport, as entertainment - his muscles still spasmed and ached and no one knew what the lasting effects of long-term crucio curse exposure were, Greyback forcing himself on Draco and afterwards leering and grabbing at Draco in the dark corners of the Malfoy Manor whenever they passed, every single time his father had ever hit him in order to condition Draco into acting the way that was expected of him, and all the small hexes and curses thrown his way whenever he stepped foot in public. 

“Look, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve had plenty of horrible things happen to me that I didn’t tell anyone about for a really long time, but once I finally started talking to people about it, it really helped me. Hermione made me start visiting a Mind Healer at St. Mungo’s and it’s helped a lot. I’m just letting you know that I’m willing to listen. I don’t have to say anything if you don’t want me to.” Draco sneered before he could help himself.

“What kind of things did Savior Potter have happen to him that he thought were so horrible? Did not everyone bow down and grovel at your feet? Did you get served something on a silver platter instead of a gold one?” Harry didn’t rise to the bait at all, he just gave Draco a small, sad smile and put his teacup down on the coffee table in front of them. He turned so that he was facing Draco, his knee pressing into the side of Draco’s thigh.

“I was raised by muggles until the summer before seventh year, which was the last time I ever saw them. They didn’t love me; they didn’t even like me. They hated the idea of magic, and they couldn’t stand the idea of it in their house. After I started at Hogwarts, every summer they would force me to lock all of my school supplies in a closet, and I wouldn’t be allowed to even mention school. If I did, I was punished. They would lock me in my bedroom for weeks at a time and only let me out for two bathroom breaks a day. Sometimes they’d forget to feed me for days at a time, or they’d just flat out refuse to give me food. If magic came up, or I said or did something they didn’t like, which was all of the time, they’d hit me.” 

“The Dark Lord made Ferir Greyback rape me when he found out I was gay,” Draco blurted out before he could think about what he was saying. He’d wanted to tell Harry he was sorry, sorry for assuming his childhood had been perfect, and that he understood what Harry had gone through. He was always learning and unlearning behavior anymore, and he wanted to tell Harry that. He wanted to ask why those muggles hadn’t understood how special Harry was to the Wizarding World, and why he had been forced to go back to them every year when most of the Wizarding World would have been proud to take Harry as their own and raise him like royalty. He couldn’t make himself actually say any of it.

“He never said what the purpose was, but I think he thought that I wouldn’t go looking for sex if I had easy access to it within the Death Eaters inner circle, and that would make it easier for him to control me. He’d use the cruciatus curse on me whenever he felt like it. I’ve been crucioed so many times I stopped counting. St. Mungo’s has no idea what long-term exposure to an unforgivable curse will do to the body, and they have no way of stopping or controlling the resulting pain.”

“Does that have anything to do with why you went into curse breaking?” True to his word, Harry didn’t pry for information about what had happened that night or even for more details about what Draco had just told him, he just took in the information and left it at that, and Draco was beyond grateful. He didn’t know why he was allowing himself to be vulnerable here in Harry’s cosy little flat. He should have left already, but oddly he felt safe here, and he found he didn’t want to leave.

“Yes. It’s not the most direct way to research the unforgivable curses, but the Healer programs didn’t want an ex-Death Eater. Neither did the Potion Master apprenticeships for that matter, and it made sense that with my experience working with dark magic I would have an advantage and excel in the field. All three were career options I had been considering anyway, so it was no hardship.”

“I don’t doubt it, you were always in the top of the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Behind you and Granger, you mean. I only ever beat the both of you in Potions,” Harry gave him an easy smile and picked his cup up again. 

“I never minded not being the best at all our classes. I was just happy to pass most of the time,” Draco gave a dark laugh.

“My father would never have allowed just passing. Malfoy’s must excel in order to maintain our image.” 

“Did he have a lot of high expectations for you?” Harry asked innocently, as if he didn’t know that he was pulling secrets out of Draco as easily as breathing. Harry was easier to talk to then Pansy or Blaise, the only other people in the world Draco would trust with these things. Perhaps that was the point, make Draco vulnerable and then strike, just like everyone else in his life had done. 

“My entire life was a high expectation. He wanted me to take the Dark Mark in fourth year when the dark-when Voldemort returned. He wanted me to marry a nice pureblood girl and carry on the Malfoy line, while having an honorable career and strategically investing the Malfoy fortune.” He grimaced and shook his head.

“You were fourteen when they wanted you to take the mark? You were still a child, how could he be okay with that?” Harry demanded.

“Oh yes, Potter. It’s not uncommon for Death Eater children to take the mark young. Aunt Bella took the mark when she was only eleven, according to Mother. I held out until the summer before sixth year, but when the Dark Lord lives with you there’s only so many excuses you can come up with before it becomes inevitable.” The shirt Harry had given him was long sleeved, for which Draco was grateful, because they were both thinking about what would have otherwise been exposed on his left forearm. He tried to keep the mark covered whenever possible to avoid drawing attention to it. With the defeat of Voldemort it had gone dark, and sunk deep into his skin. No spell that he’d tried was able to lighten or remove it.

“Is that why Bellatrix was crazy?”

“One of many reasons, I’m sure. I’ve been led to believe that growing up in the Black household was not a pleasant experience.”

“Yeah, Grimmauld Place was pretty miserable when I spent time there with my godfather,” 

“Mmm I’m sure Malfoy Manor has not become much better.” Draco finished off the last of his tea, and then kept the cup tightly in his lap, unsure what he was supposed to do with himself now. 

“Here, I’ll take that. Are you feeling better? Are you hungry? I was honestly thinking about takeout before you got here,” 

“I don’t want to be a-”

“-bother yeah you’ve said, but I told you, you aren’t a bother. I wouldn’t have offered to help you if I hadn’t wanted to. With the end of the war I realized I had to stop living my life for other people and what they wanted for me, and I had to start making my own decisions and deciding what I wanted. And what I wanted was to make sure that you’re safe and cared for, because you’ve already gone through a lot and then you show up on my doorstep crying and looking like you were just attacked. That’s not just something I can turn my back on. I forgave you a long time ago for the things you’ve done. You aren’t just an ex-Death Eater to me. You’re another one of us who saw too much shit too soon in their lives and you probably don’t have nearly the support system I do, which is a shame, because you deserve it. So.  _ Do you want takeout? _ ” Draco wondered if this was Mrs. Weasley’s influence on Harry shining through, aggressively trying to feed Draco and take care of him. He swallowed.

“I’ve never had takeout before,” He admitted and that seemed to make the decision for both of them. Harry took both their cups to the sink and came back to sit beside Draco again with several folded menus in his hand. 

“It’s high time you were introduced to the wonders of muggle takeout then. We’ve got a couple of options: chinese, thai, indian, and there’s a pizza place that will deliver to Diagon Alley now that they have a few muggleborns on their staff,” Draco examined each of the menus carefully as Harry handed them to him, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to make a decision about something he had no knowledge of.

“What kinds of foods do you like?” Draco rattled off a few things and Harry plucked a menu out of his hands.

“I think maybe this one for tonight then, what do you think?” Draco shrugged.

“Anything is fine. I’m not terribly hungry,” His stomach betrayed him by growling at that moment. Harry grinned.

“Want me to choose for you?”

“That’s fine,” Harry nodded and reached for a dark rectangular piece of metal sitting on the coffee table that Draco hadn’t previously noticed. With Harry’s touch, it lit up, making Draco jump.

“What the hell is that?” Harry glanced up at him and laughed.

“It’s a cellphone. Muggles use them to contact people. It’s like firecalling, only you don’t need a fire or Floo. With a few spells Hermione was able to get them to work in the Wizarding World, even though they normally don’t.” 

“Whatever will the Muggles think up next?” Draco murmured and Harry laughed at him again. He nudged Draco’s thigh with his knee before standing and walking towards the window. He put the phone to his ear, and after a moment of silence started talking into it. Draco averted his eyes and took his first good look around Harry’s flat. The couch he was on was in the middle of the room, across from him and to the left towards the front door was a fireplace with several framed photographs on the mantle of Harry and his friends. Directly across from Draco was another, larger, black box similar to the cellphone Harry had just explained to him. Harry’s large bed was pushed into a corner near the kitchen and the sheets were unmade, the blanket flung back as if Harry had just vacated it. Somehow Draco guessed Harry’s bed always looked like that. Against the wall by the foot of the bed was the wardrobe Harry had given Draco clothes from, and against the wall in the corner near it was a floor to ceiling bookshelf that, despite its size, was still overflowing onto the floor beside it. There was a small table close to the kitchen area, with four chairs, and in front of the couch where he sat was the coffee table that he realized was Harry’s old school trunk. There was a flowering plant Draco didn’t recognize on the table, and next to the front door a small table housed a vine-like fern that he also didn’t recognize.

“Do you like my plants? Between Luna and Neville I’m always being gifted one. These are the only two I’ve managed to keep alive, butu they keep insisting on giving me more.” 

“I don’t recognize either of them,” Harry sat down beside Draco on the couch again, close enough that the cushions pushed their thighs together so that they were touching again.

“I don’t remember the names of them. This one Luna gave me, she said it’s supposed to bring good luck. The one by the door Neville had an extra sproutling of so he gave it to me because apparently it’s a very hardy houseplant.” Harry shrugged. “My Mind Healer, Darlene, said it’s good to have other living things around when you live alone. I’ve been thinking about getting a Kneazle.”

“Perhaps I should take that advice. My flat hasn’t felt like mine ever since I bought it,”

“You don’t live at the Manor with your mother?” Draco shuddered.

“Oh no, I’d prefer never to step foot in the Manor ever again after living with Voldemort there for over a year. However, Mother chose to serve her house arrest there, and has not been coping well with Father’s imprisonment. I think the familiarity brings her comfort. I try to visit most weekends for dinner, and I Floo her during the week.” He couldn’t imagine voluntarily staying in the same place where the Dark Lord had had eyes and ears in every dark corner of the house. Even his own room had not been private, nor had it felt like  _ his _ after Greyback had dirtied it. He had yet to sleep there since the end of the war, no matter how much his mother begged him.

“I’m sorry,” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, I never liked the idea of one day inheriting my childhood home anyway. Mother can have it if she wishes. Though I guess that is where I shall have to return, at least temporarily, seeing as I believe that the location of my flat has been compromised.” 

“Is that connected to why you showed up on my doorstep tonight?” Draco nodded. Harry knocked Draco’s knee with his own again. He seemed like he almost wanted to put an arm around Draco, and he wondered if Harry was this demonstrative with everyone he knew. 

“Like I said, you can stay here as long as you’d like. If you’d rather not go back to the Manor you can stay here. I don’t have a ton of room, you’d either have to take the couch or share the bed with me, but it’s better than the Manor. I wouldn’t mind the company.” Share Harry’s bed? Draco hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Pansy in the dorm rooms when she’d sleep over and moan to Draco about whatever boy she was involved with at the time. If Draco took someone home at the club he always left right after they were finished. It didn’t do to linger. Sharing a bed was intimate, special. Something Harry should be doing with his girlfriend.

“Wouldn’t your girlfriend mind that you offered to share a bed with me?” Harry frowned.

“What girlfriend?” 

“Ginny Weasley?” Draco asked hesitantly and Harry laughed.

“Don’t tell me you read The Prophet still. Ginny and I broke up before the war and we never got back together. We both decided we’d be better off friends until we finished school and found careers, and by that time she’d been offered a Quidditch position and we both agreed there was no point trying to revive something when she’d always be traveling. I think her and Luna have something going on, but they haven’t made it official yet.” 

“Oh.” Did that mean the wink from earlier  _ was _ Harry flirting? Was Harry even interested in men that way?

“Yeah, oh. If you wanted to share the bed you don’t have to worry about any partners coming after you in the morning,” He said it so easily, as if he offered to share a bed with every injured person that showed up on his doorstep.

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why...?”

“I tried to reach out to you, after your trial. Did you know that?” Draco had stopped checking his mail somewhere around the tenth Howler that told him he deserved to die, when he’d started thinking they were right. 

“No,”

“I wrote to you, but the owls kept coming back unopened. You’d completely disappeared and no one knew where you were. I even tried writing to Pansy, Hermione had pointed out that if anyone would maybe be able to get through to you, it was her. But she never answered me.”

“Why bother? And Pansy is in France now, fully enraptured by  _ son amoureux francais _ and she has no time for anyone here. I, similarly, wanted a break from prying eyes and devoted myself to the NEWTs I missed seventh year, and then studying curse breaking for the apprenticeship exam. Refusing owls and visitors felt right at the time, especially seeing as most of them were howlers telling me how I should be locked in Azkaban with my father.” And telling him how he should be dead so often that he started to think it was true.

“I wanted to start over and try to be friends. The war was over, and I wanted another chance. I had a feeling that there would be backlash after the decision for your trial, and I wanted to make sure you knew there were still people that didn’t believe that. A lot of good it did since you stopped your owls.” 

“I don’t want your pity. I wouldn’t have wanted it then, and I definitely don’t want it now.” He made to get off the couch, intent on leaving Harry’s flat and finding somewhere else to go. Perhaps the night bus to the Manor, or chance the Leaky Cauldron. Harry grabbed his forearm to stop him, and Draco flinched as he realized that Harry had grabbed right over the Dark Mark. 

“It’s not pity, Draco. I empathize with you, and with the things that have happened to you, but I don’t pity you. I genuinely would like a second chance to get to know you and be friends now that Voldemort isn’t trying to kill me every year, and you’ve managed to pull your head out of your arse,” Draco sank back down onto the couch and Harry slowly let go of his arm.

“What do Granger and Weasley think about this fraternization with the enemy?”

“They told me to do what I felt was right. Well, that’s what Hermione said. Ron told me I was crazy to think you would want to be friends.”

At that moment a chime sounded through Harry’s flat and Harry waved his hand to stop the noise.

“That’ll be the food,” He got up and headed down the stairs, and came back a few moments later carrying a thin square box. He moved his plant to the floor beside the trunk turned table and put the box down. Draco opened the box curiously as Harry went to retrieve plates from the kitchen.

“Do you want anything to drink? I have water, butterbeer, and a bit of firewhiskey too. Or I can make some more tea,” He called. Draco studied the food inside of the box curiously, it was one of the best things he’d smelled in a long time. 

“Water is fine.” He came back with two glasses of water and two plates.

“Pizza is normally just eaten with your hands, but I can get you utensils if you’d rather,” He seemed apologetic, as if Draco couldn’t, or wouldn’t, eat food without them.

“Won’t be necessary. I can adapt.” He reassured Harry, taking his glass so that he could observe Harry pulling the pizza apart and the correct way to eat it.

“Have you ever watched television?” Harry asked as he put a slice of pizza on Draco’s plate, as if realizing Draco was completely out of his element.

“I have not. That was in one of my Muggle Studies books. It’s similar to our pictures, is it not?” 

“Kind of, but also pretty different. Here, I’ll introduce you.” Using his phone, Harry turned on the box on the wall that Draco now realized must be a television. It looked different from the ones in his books. 

“Do Muggles typically eat while they watch the box?”

“Yes, getting takeout and watching tv while you eat it is very popular. Here, let’s watch this, it’s one of my favorite movies right now. It’s about a man who is an inventor who ends up becoming a superhero.” 

“You can’t just tell me the whole story, Harry, you’ll ruin it.” Too late Draco realized he’d used Harry’s first name instead of his last name. If Harry had recognized the change, he didn’t say anything.

“Sorry, I’ll be quiet.” Draco watched his first movie while eating pizza in Harry Potter’s flat and he decided that there were much worse things in the world. He liked pizza, and he ended up liking the man called Tony Stark in Harry’s tv. Once they’d finished eating Harry paused the movie and explained that it would keep playing at the spot where they left off when they unpaused it. Draco helped Harry clean up the dishes and the empty box, wondering at how natural it felt. It was as if he and Harry had been friends for years instead of maybe a few hours. Could Draco even consider Harry a friend yet? It was so easy to be with Harry, and Draco hadn’t felt like that with anyone since Hogwarts with Pansy before Voldemort was an omnipresence always right over his shoulder.

When they came back to the couch from cleaning up they resumed their spots from before, but now that they weren’t eating Draco noticed that Harry had sat a lot closer than he had been. He tried to ignore the warmth of Harry’s thigh burning against his own. As the movie went on, Draco felt exhaustion creeping up on him and it became hard to keep his eyes open.

“Hey, Draco? Draco, wake up.” Draco jolted awake to Harry’s voice to find himself curled against Harry with his head on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s hand on Draco’s shoulder shaking softly. He jumped away from Harry, scooting into the opposite arm of the couch to put an appropriate amount of distance between them.

“I’m sorry. You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you, but that can’t be a comfortable position, and I wasn’t sure if you had agreed to spend the night. I can get you a pillow and a blanket if you are, and you want to take the couch.”

“If it’s no trouble I would like to stay, and that would be nice thank you.” With a nod Harry got up and dug a blanket out of the linen closet in his bathroom. 

“Mrs. Weasley gave me like five of these when I bought this flat, as a housewarming gift, but I never get to put them to use, because there isn’t enough room here to really have any guests. The one on my bed is from her too, I guarantee you this will keep you warm all night.” He dumped the bright blue and cream colored blanket onto the couch and went to his own bed where he pulled one of his pillows off and tossed it to Draco. “Do you want a spare toothbrush?” 

“No thank you, I prefer cleaning charms.” As if Draco knew how to brush his teeth with a toothbrush beyond what his books described. Harry had shrugged and left Draco to brush his own teeth in the bathroom, a process that led to a significant amount of running water turning on and off and spitting noises that Draco wanted to investigated, but did not. He’d admitted enough lack of knowledge on Muggle things for the day, he didn’t need to continue to show Harry how completely incompetent he was in these things.

Harry finished brushing his teeth and emerged from the bathroom. He stoked the fire, dimmed the lights, and bid Draco goodnight. Draco settled into Harry’s couch, inhaling Harry’s scent from the pillow he’d been given, curled under the weight of the knitted blanket, and wondered what he was getting himself into. He fell asleep faster than he expected, and slept better than he had in years.

**Author's Note:**

> I stopped here because it felt like things had come to a point where I was able to do that, but I'm thinking about maybe adding some more at some point. Feel free to leave a comment below letting me know what you think and/or if you would like me to write some more for this story.
> 
> Feel free to drop by my [ tumblr ](writing-scars.tumblr.com) to talk about Harry Potter or any of my other fandoms. If you're not a tumblr person, the rest of my social media platforms are in my profile if you'd like to find me anywhere on the internet.


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